


"Good" Old-Fashioned Lover Boy

by queenfreddiemercury



Category: Queen (Band)
Genre: Abusive Relationships, Angst, Domestic Violence, M/M, Non-Graphic Violence, there is a brief bed sharing scene cause i love myself
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-11
Updated: 2017-07-11
Packaged: 2018-11-30 20:01:04
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,394
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11470656
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/queenfreddiemercury/pseuds/queenfreddiemercury
Summary: Roger remembers some of the worst moments from Freddie's most troubled relationships.





	"Good" Old-Fashioned Lover Boy

It was small things at first.

It was the way Freddie would flinch if someone moved unexpectedly in his direction. It was the way that, although they as a band had had more screaming matches than Roger could remember, Freddie would fling himself halfway across the room if someone let a shout out of nowhere. He was jumpy in a way he hadn’t been before. He’d always been nervous, always been shy, but he hadn’t been _jumpy._ Now he was.

Then there were the bruises.

Bruises that Freddie would either pretend not to notice or insist were nothing.

_“What’s that? I don’t know, I don’t know where that came from”_

_“Oh that? That’s nothing to worry about darling, it doesn’t matter”_

Sometimes it genuinely _was_ the case that Freddie didn’t realise. Roger remembered one time before a show when Freddie had taken off the shirt he’d come in, to change into his stage clothes. Suddenly someone had pointed, _“God Freddie, what happened to your back?”_ Freddie had swivelled around in front of the mirror, trying to catch a glimpse of the damage himself. It was apparent when he managed it, the quiet _“oh my god”_ of shock. Roger didn’t know how he hadn’t _felt it_ before then – the fact it had to be pointed out to him said something about either Freddie’s pain threshold or his observation skills. _“Damage”_ was the appropriate word – a litany of bruises was scattered across his upper back. Freddie had looked at himself in the mirror, aghast for a moment before quickly turning, straightening up and shaking his head.

_“Haven’t the foggiest – maybe I should start taking it easy with the vodka, eh Phoebe?”_

He’d enlisted Phoebe to help him cover up the bruises – he couldn’t reach it properly himself. He’d then proceeded to play the show as if he hadn’t a care in the world or a bruise on his body.

It was all just strange.

There were a few things Roger had learned about Freddie over the years. Most he’d learned quickly – Freddie had made them apparent early on.

Firstly, Freddie was intensely private. This was the case both in terms of the media and in his personal life. He liked to keep details about the things that mattered, close to his chest. Freddie’s natural shyness lent itself to this also.

A second thing Roger had learned was that, in many ways, Freddie was a creature of habit. He had no doubt Freddie would disagree with this – and the truth was that in many ways Freddie was very spontaneous. However, the fact was that Freddie fell into patterns – or maybe sought them out. This was most apparent when it came to his love life, which was, in a word, tempestuous.

It had taken Freddie a long time before he would introduce them to boyfriends. Again, Freddie was private. However, he did eventually start to. And the more he did, the more apparent the pattern became.

It was not uncommon for Freddie and his current beau to be screaming in argument at each other in the run up to a show. Tension and conflict seemed to be present in all of Freddie’s relationships. In some ways Freddie seemed to thrive off it. Roger wasn’t sure if it was an adrenaline thing or something, but often it was the case that Freddie would perform his best after a particularly nasty argument.

Again, strange. But a lot of couples argued.

_That doesn’t mean it’s a good thing._

The point was, whether Freddie was consciously seeking it out or not, he kept entering into these conflictual relationships. A pattern.

Roger remembered the first time he’d seen one of Freddie’s boyfriends hit him. They were all waiting around in the dressing room before a shown when it happened. Freddie and his current guy, _whatever his name was Roger no longer remembered,_ had been arguing solidly for the past hour. Roger had been fixing his own hair in the mirror, when in the background he saw the guy slap Freddie hard across the face. Freddie had been knocked almost sideways. Roger had turned around and taken a step before he was even aware of what he was doing – an instinctive reaction. Before anyone else could say anything, Freddie himself had exploded in outrage.

 _“What the fuck are you doing!?”_ he’d stormed, his face flushed already from emotion but now also from the slap. _“I’ve got to go on stage in ten fucking minutes, I’m going to have put more makeup on this now”_

It was Brian who had suggested that _whatever-his-name-was_ should leave. _“Emotions are running high”_ had been his diplomatic phrasing. But Freddie would have none of it. He wouldn’t let his guy leave the room. As soon the moment had cooled down, he acted as if none of it had ever happened. Roger, and presumably the others, assumed that his reluctance to dwell on it stemmed both from a desire to move on as well as some degree of embarrassment. For that reason, they didn’t push him on it. But in hindsight, Roger wished that they had. This had still been in the early days.

The beginning of the pattern.

 

* * *

 

 

The time with the hotel rooms had always stuck with Roger because the whole thing had been so unlike Freddie. He’d woken to hear knocking on his door. This was in the days before penthouse suites, in the days before Phoebe – the days before things had gotten completely crazy.

He’d woken to hear a knocking on his door – soft enough, almost as though the knocker was afraid of waking him, despite that being the clear objective of the action. Once he’d gotten his bearings, he’d gone to the door and found, to his utter confusion, Freddie. Freddie was always in the habit of going out, and even besides that, he currently had a guy on tour with him. The point was, Freddie was busy at night, and wasn’t in the habit of visiting Roger’s hotel rooms.

_“Hey Freddie – what are you doing?”_

_“Oh…I’m just, I didn’t-”_

Freddie cleared his throat amid his faltering – his voice was hoarse.

_“I can go, never mind”_

_“No, I’m just confused – do you need something? Come in, anyway”_ Roger ushered him in despite the fact that Freddie hadn’t stated a reason for his appearance. Freddie seemed disorientated – Roger half-supposed that Freddie had _overindulged_ in some substance. It seemed one of the only possible explanations for the house-call.

Closing the door after Freddie, Roger glanced, or rather _peered_ in the dim light that the bedside lamp provided, at a clock that was set on a nearby table.

_4 a.m._

_“So”_ Roger closed the door with a click and followed Freddie into the main body of the room. Freddie had paused in front of a mirror and was doing some peering himself – turning his head slowly and at different angles almost like he was looking for something.

 _“So, it’s 4 a.m.”_ he continued, _“Are you just back from the club or something”_

 _“No, no, no”_ Freddie didn’t _sound_ intoxicated, now that Roger had had more time to think _“We weren’t out – well we were, but we came back early”_

 _“Okay…”_ that made less sense that Roger had been anticipating. If Freddie had decided to call it a night early that usually meant it was a _good_ night and that he certainly wouldn’t want to be disturbed, or be out on 4 a.m. strolls.

 _“We had a bit of a row actually”_ Freddie elaborated, surprising Roger. _“At the club. Which is why I called it a night – I’d had e-fucking-nough”_

 _“Mmm”_ Roger nodded, still unsure as to why Freddie was here, now.

_“Anyway, I thought that was the end of it but he started up again later, and so I said, ‘oh not again, darling’ – I couldn’t face any more of it. So, now I’m here”_

_“I see”_ Roger was still taking it in. It was _early._ However, he must have paused a moment too long. Freddie seemed to visibly shake himself, and an embarrassed smile flashed across his face.

_“I’m sorry – this is so stupid, I don’t know what I was thinking. I’ll go.”_

_“No – no!”_ Roger finally understood why Freddie was here. He put a hand out to stop Freddie who had actually taken a step or two towards the door _“You want to stay, is that it? You want to sleep here?”_

_“I – I’m sorry, it’s just I can’t bear to go back there right now. And I came to you because you know how John fucking snores”_

_“It’s horrendous isn’t it”_ Roger smiled, clapping a hand to Freddie’s shoulder _“Of course you can stay, just hurry up – I was asleep you know! When you came knocking”_

 _“Sorry, sorry!”_ Freddie said in a half-whisper, his arms raised up in front of his chest in apology. He proceeded to positively _scuttle_ towards the bed. He was still dressed in his going-out clothes, though he’d apparently left whatever jacket he’d worn back in his own suite. He started peeling off his leather trousers, as Roger made his way to his own side of the bed.

 _“You won’t even know I’m here”_ Freddie assured him. From experience, Roger knew that he definitely _would_ know Freddie was there. Freddie was a cuddler, but Roger didn’t mind. So was he.

_“I’ll be like a mouse over here on my side, you go back to sleep”_

In the morning, they both got a tremendous fright. Freddie had bruises all around the base of his throat, with the colour strongest at the very front. Roger’s immediate thought was that he’d somehow done it in his sleep – but after a moment his panic subsided and he realised that Freddie _surely_ would have woken him up if that had happened.

And so, the reason for Freddie’s late-night walk had become apparent.

Freddie wouldn’t admit a thing. He brushed it off as having happened during the show or while he was out at the club – _“you know how people get when they’re excited. Some lout was half-strangling me trying to get me to have a drink with him”_

But the hoarseness of Freddie’s voice gave the game away.

The only positive was that Freddie sent the guy packing shortly after. Bruises were one thing, but Freddie wouldn’t allow his voice to be compromised.

 

* * *

 

 

It was a delicate subject. Roger supposed that they were all wary of this fact, and that’s why nobody was really saying anything. Nobody wanted to seem like they were overly policing Freddie’s life, when it could so easily come across that way. But, the fact was that all of them would be horrified by the idea of somebody in their crew being violent towards his girlfriend or wife. Why should it be any different just because Freddie was somebody’s boyfriend?

Part of the problem was that Freddie must have viewed it differently. That was probably the reason he tolerated it. Roger couldn’t see any other reason for it – a mixture of embarrassment and denial that anything was _actually_ _wrong_ with what was happening.

So, it was something they could only really talk about if it was happening in front of them. Which it seldom every did. They couldn’t exactly protest every shove no matter how rough it seemed – especially when, by all accounts, Freddie liked his men big and strong in general. No, it was a sensitive matter, they had to be careful, but _god almighty_ , Roger couldn’t help thinking _; why weren’t they being more careful with Freddie, and why wasn’t_ Freddie _being more careful with_ himself _?_

 

* * *

 

The whole band had been involved in screaming matches. They were always about work, to be sure, but tempers would flare and storm outs were common. The only saving grace was that, with these screaming matches, everyone was _cross_ rather than being _upset._ Everybody wanted their own way, and they were all arguing to try ensure it. It would be far worse if people were being left upset by the disagreements – that was something for which Roger had always been grateful.

With that in mind, there was something truly awful about the times Roger, or the others, would find Freddie crying. It didn’t happen often – Roger could tell he tried not to, especially in front of them. Which was understandable, of course, most people prefer to cry in the comfort and privacy of their own home.

They weren’t due in to the dressing room for another hour or so. This was the time that everyone spent out having food and blowing off steam before the show. Roger was only nipping in himself to use the toilet that was there.

There was always security posted outside their dressing room, because the room was never locked. To Roger’s utter surprise, one of the security men asked him not to go in the dressing room.

_“He – Freddie – said not to let anyone in”_

Roger had been utterly perplexed. He’d never been denied entry to his own dressing room before.

_“I’m in this band, this is my dressing room – you have to let me in!”_

It had been a half-hearted effort on their part to stop him anyway – they knew who he was and that they couldn’t really prevent him from going in.

Roger had been half-afraid that he was about to walk in on Freddie having sex. In fact, nobody was even in the main body of the dressing room. Turning his attention to the closed door that led to the adjoining bathroom, Roger concluded that Freddie must be behind it.

_“Freddie, are you in there?”_

_“What?”_ Freddie’s voice was sharp. Annoyed. _“Who is that, I asked them not to let-”_

His voice cut off, all the power gone out of it. He sounded short of breath, like he did when he had one of his anxiety attacks.

 _“Anyone in”_ he eventually finished, his voice much fainter than it had been when he started – the original burst of shock having fuelled him temporarily.

 _“It’s Roger”_ Roger answered, though he was sure that Freddie had recognised his voice from the outset. _“Is everything okay? You don’t sound well.”_

 _“Well…”_ Freddie’s tone was almost playful, as if he was trying to make a joke. His general shortness of breath prevented him from being completely successful. It seemed that he could sense it too, for when he spoke again he’d abandoned the attempt.

_“No, I don’t feel well, darling. But everything’s fine, it’s just me being stupid”_

_“What do you mean? What happened?”_ The whole situation struck Roger as very strange. Freddie was virtually never alone these days. The fact he’d sought out an empty dressing room toilet was so utterly unlike him.

Freddie exhaled heavily

_“Nothing. Could you just…go? And not tell anyone…about this?”_

_“I-”_ Freddie sounded determined, but Roger wasn’t about to let him brush it off this easily. _“I really need to piss Freddie, that’s why I came in here”_

 _“What?”_ Freddie was caught off-guard _“go somewhere else, for fucks sake!”_

_“I’m literally about to piss myself if you don’t let me in”_

_“Then piss yourself”_

_“Fredddie!-”_

_“Fine!”_ Roger could hear Freddie’s feet on the floor, then the door was thrown pulled open. Freddie hadn’t even had the light on in the bathroom – he’d been sitting in the dark. His face was blotchy- he’d clearly been crying and by the looks of it, he hadn’t even really stopped. His eyes even now were brimming with tears.

 _“Fucking go, so”_ Freddie stepped out from the bathroom, sidestepping Roger to stand away from the door.

_“I just said that to make you open the door”_

_“Son of a-”_ Freddie cut himself off, throwing his eyes up to the ceiling. Whether this was in annoyance, or in an effort to keep the tears in his eyes, Roger wasn’t sure.

_“What happened Freddie?”_

_“I don’t want to talk about it”_ Freddie was still looking at the ceiling, his hands on his hips. A smile broke out across his face – it seemed in complete contrast to everything he was feeling. Still smiling he waved a hand towards his face – drawing attention to a tear that was rolling down his cheek.

_“Look what you’ve done – I’d just managed to stop before you came in”_

_“Freddie-”_

_“I’m fine”_

_“Come on”_ he pulled Freddie in for a hug – he didn’t even know if it would help, but he didn’t know what else to do. He couldn’t just leave Freddie, when he was like this, no matter what Freddie kept saying. Freddie wasn’t hugging him back, but after a moment he leant his head forwards, in towards Roger’s and Roger could tell he was letting go a little.

_“It’ll be okay”_

_“I know, I know, I just can’t stop”_

_“Stop what?”_

_“Stop crying”_ Freddie hiccupped – a laugh, or maybe him trying, once again to stop himself. _“My body won’t stop, this is ridiculous – I’m not even upset anymore, but it just won’t stop-”_

 _“That’s always the way”_ Roger made the mistake of rubbing Freddie’s back. His body jerked as if he was in pain. Roger quickly stopped and to his relief, Freddie didn’t immediately break out of the hug.

_“Does that hurt?”_

_“It’s fine”_ Freddie sighed, stepping back now to break it.

_“You know you don’t have to-”_

_“Have to what?”_

_“You don’t have to put up with this”_ Roger hoped he didn’t sound harsh. He didn’t want to scare Freddie off. _“You’re Freddie fucking Mercury, you don’t need any of these guys and you certainly don’t need them when they’re being assholes”_

 _“There’s only so many fish in the sea”_ Freddie forced a smile, _“I can’t afford to be picky”_

 _“You! -”_ Roger was spluttering _“You, of all people, can definitely afford to be picky”_

_“Doesn’t feel that way”_

_“Just-”_

_“It’s just how it is, lovie”_ Freddie swiped his eyes with the back of his hand. _“You don’t understand cause you don’t have to understand. But it’s just how it is”_

_“You don’t have to say, ‘oh yeah this is fine’ just to prove…just to prove whatever. That you’re strong or whatever it is that makes you not what to talk to us about this”_

_“Nobody would want to hear, believe me, and I don’t want to talk about it”_

_“You know it’s not…right for people to treat their partners like this? Like, it’s not normal”_

_“I think we’ve well established by now that my relationships aren’t normal”_

_“No, that’s not what I-”_ that was exactly the reaction that Roger had always feared _“that is normal, don’t be ridiculous. I meant the way they treat you-the way so many of them seem to treat you!”_

 _“Like I said”_ Freddie seemed more in control of himself now – his breathing had stabilised and his face was slightly less flushed, _“you don’t have to understand”_

Roger paused for a moment, trying to think.

_“Just – keep yourself safe, please Freddie”_

_“Haven’t I always?”_

_“Safer, then”_ Roger really wanted Freddie to take him seriously

 _“And you can always talk to me – I promise”_ he continued _“I know you don’t, but you can – I swear you always can”_

_“Okay”_

_“I mean it!”_

_“Okay!”_ Freddie’s eyes went wide, emphasising the word. Roger knew he was being forceful but it felt like it was time to be.

_“Are you okay…like physically okay right now?”_

_“Yeah it’s nothing, I’m fine”_

_“Okay”_

_“Do you need anything? Will I bring you anything?”_

_“I don’t know, I can’t think”_

_“Ice? I’ll bring you ice and a drink”_

_“Oh, darling that would be perfect now that you mention it”_ Freddie threw back his head, clearly in full agreement. _“My head is fucking pounding after all that – ice is just what I need”_

 _“Oh, so would I just bring the ice and leave the drink?”_ Roger help grinning slightly as he said it, knowing full well what Freddie’s reaction to such a suggestion would be.

_“Don’t you dare, I swear Roger if you come back here without a bottle of something-”_

 

* * *

 

 

Roger could only remember one real confrontation. Ridiculously, in that case, it hadn’t even been about Freddie.

They were hanging around waiting for something to begin – whether it was a photoshoot or just the pre-show wait Roger could no longer remember. What he did remember was that their respective partners were due to arrive.

Brian told Freddie he didn’t want his boyfriend there. Freddie, taken aback, had managed to politely ask why not. Brian had replied something about not wanting his son around someone like that.

 _“Someone ‘like that’”_ Freddie had made the quotes with his fingers, _“Someone like me, you mean._ Is _that what you mean?”_

_“Jesus, no Freddie, of course not!”_

_“Then what_ do _you mean?”_ the patience Freddie had briefly exhibited had clearly already stretched thin.

 _“I mean someone so violent – I just don’t want…I mean it’s my_ son _Freddie”_

 _“Violent?”_ Freddie cocked a thumb at Brian, while casting a look at Roger and John as if to say, _“what’s this fool on about?”_

_“Yeah, violent”_

_“What are you even-”_ Freddie was almost at a loss for words, but not quite. _“Why would you even know-why would you even think that? You’ve barely even said_ hello _to him for god’s sake!”_

 _“Every time he’s been around you two end up shouting at each other”_ Brian interjected, his voice steady. He was calm in contrast to how agitated Freddie was rapidly becoming. _“That’s not to mention the fact he treats you like a punching bag, but nothing anybody says to you about how you shouldn’t put up with it seems to make any difference, so I’m just saying I don’t want my son to have to put up with being around it. Okay?”_

Freddie’s mouth was hanging open. His eyes slid from being focused on Brian to some spot behind him. He brought a hand up to his hair, smoothing it over it, before lowering the hand to rest in front of his mouth.

 _“Yeah, fine”_ Freddie cleared his throat, nodding his head slightly though his eyes were still unfocused, _“sorry, absolutely – I’ll send someone. Tell him not to come.”_

 _“Thank you”_ Brian’s eyes were wide – Roger bet he couldn’t believe what he just said to Freddie.

 _“Of course, darling”_ Freddie nodded his head again. He wasn’t looking at any of them. He started to turn towards the door, his head down, _“you only have to ask, I’d never want-”_

He broke off apparently not sure of what he was going to say. Shaking his head, he abandoned the sentence and made his way through the door. A solid ten seconds of silence followed his exit before John broke it.

_“Brian, holy fuck”_

* * *

 

 

Roger never saw the guy Brian had been talking about again, after that.

Brian had found a way to get through to Freddie at last.

Roger didn’t want to think about how guilty they’d made him feel in the process.

 

* * *

 

After that, Freddie was much more aware of how his boyfriends and partners behaved around the band and the assorted crew. He was now alerted to the fact that _everyone else had been aware the entire time_ of what was going on. Or that everyone had a rough idea anyway.

Things were relatively peaceful until Bill Reid came along.

Bill escalated things to a whole other level. The things Roger observed made him wonder _what_ Bill could be like in private, when there wasn’t dozens of people, who were all terribly fond of Freddie, watching him.

There was the incident at the show in Milton Keynes where Bill _bit_ Freddie’s hand. Aside from being terribly _weird,_ it caused agonising pain for Freddie – who was due to perform. Despite everyone’s urging, Freddie would neither go to a doctor nor take any action against Bill. They acted like it was just an ordinary row. Poor Phoebe was enlisted to try clean Freddie’s thumb, and bandage it.

The worst of it was clearly that which they didn’t see. It was Phoebe who told him about the incident in a hotel in Canada.

Phoebe had woken, in the middle of the night, to Freddie pounding on his door, begging to be let in. Freddie wouldn’t explain his sudden appearance then, but the state of his own suite the next morning did the explaining for him.

Broken glass was everywhere. One of the walls had holes in it from where bottles had been flung.

Phoebe said he couldn’t believe what he’d seen. He also couldn’t believe how lucky Freddie was to have gotten away unscathed.  

Perhaps it was Freddie’s uncanny ability to always come away relatively unscathed that made him underestimate the gravity of these things. Freddie kept Bill around, for reasons _no one_ could understand. But no one could dissuade him.

 

* * *

 

 

Overhearing had been an accident. It hadn’t even been his _fault._ He’d been passed out on a couch – tour exhaustion having really caught up with him. He wasn’t even awake when they’d come in, he just suddenly realised that he was indeed, conscious, and that Freddie and Phoebe’s voices were arguing.

_“Freddie, this is ridiculous! Just send him packing, please”_

_“I will not”_ Freddie’s voice was firm, adamant.

_“Why!? For the love of god Freddie, I’m sorry but why do you keep him around?”_

_“I don’t know”_ Roger could hear the shrug in Freddie’s voice. Despite his extreme grogginess, he knew Freddie that well. Knew every inflection.

 _“You don’t know?”_ Phoebe repeated.

_“I don’t know!”_

_“He’s horrible Freddie”_ it was bluntly delivered. Roger could only imagine Phoebe’s frustration. _“What does he have to do for you to see that? When I think back to that night in the hotel my heart starts pounding when I imagined what could have happened-”_

_“Nothing would have happened-”_

_“You don’t know-”_

_“Nothing would have happened cause he loves me!”_ the words burst out of Freddie so suddenly that Roger could almost feel them in his chest. _“That’s what all of this means, don’t you see? It means he loves me, it means he actually fucking cares”_

 _“Freddie”_ Phoebe sounded aghast. Roger was cringing against the couch, the back of which was shielding him from their view. He was, at this stage, awake enough that he had no excuse for listening, but by now it would be far to awkward to announce his presence. _“That’s not-I’m not saying he doesn’t love you, but surely you don’t think that_ that, _what he does means he loves you”_

_“Of course, it does, darling. What else would it mean?”_

The silence that followed was positively deafening.

 _“It…that’s not love”_ Phoebe finally managed. _“He might love you – god knows we all love you so surely he does too, but that isn’t love. At all.”_

_“Well, I guess that’s your opinion then”_

_“How would you feel if this was Mary?”_ Phoebe said sharply, pointedly. Roger froze against the couch. _“If her boyfriend was like Bill”_

_“That’s not even-”_

_“It’s exactly the same”_

_“No, it’s not!”_

_“Why not!”_ Roger could tell Phoebe was making an effort not to shout himself, but it was getting close now. Their voices had been getting gradually louder as both became more agitated. _“Explain to me why it would be any different if Mary’s boyfriends were going around hitting her and biting her and smashing up hotel rooms in fits of rage directed at her, and firing bottles of champagne at her head”_

 _“It’s not the same”_ Freddie said venomously, his voice almost a snarl, _“because I can take it. I’m a grown fucking man and you’re acting like I need help defending myself or something from my own boyfriends!”_

 _“It doesn’t matter that you can ‘take it’ Freddie, god”_ Phoebe’s voice was cracking now, _“you shouldn’t have to ‘take it’, don’t you see that? It’s not love, it’s horrible, it’s abusive, it’s frightening – I’m literally afraid for you. I’m always so goddamn worried now, every time you’re alone with him”_

_“It’s not that bad”_

_“So, if Mary said-”_

_“You know well I would never stand by and let some brute do anything to her-”_ this time it was Freddie who broke off, his voice having given out on him for a moment.

_“Then how can you expect us to stand by and do nothing for you?”_

A long silence followed. Roger could hear his own heartbeat pounding in his ears.

 _“Because I’m asking you to”_ Freddie finally answered. He sounded tired. Done. _“I’m asking you to let me handle things my own way”_

_“Freddie-”_

_“And I promise I’ll come to you, if I need to”_ Roger could tell Freddie was being sincere. _“Just like I did that night at the hotel – see, I will say something when I need to”_

 _“Yeah”_ Phoebe exhaled heavily, resigned to the fact it was probably the most he would get out of Freddie. _“At least you did that…you’re not a complete fool”_

 _“Not completely”_ Roger could hear the smile in Freddie’s voice.

He felt like his own heart was snapping in two.

 _“Do you love him?”_ the question startled Roger, so he imagined that it had also startled Freddie.

Freddie snorted.

 _“No, I don’t love him.”_ His tone conveyed his utter dismissal of the idea. What an _absurd_ suggestion. Roger felt relief for just a moment before it was instantly snatched away again.

_“But he loves me and that’s what matters”_

  

* * *

 

 

It was once again Freddie’s voice that proved a deciding factor when it came to Bill. After an argument that saw them screaming at each other for several hours, Freddie found that his voice had completely gone. The day of their _SNL_ performance, which was to be filmed live.

Freddie was positively livid. He managed to coax his voice back by means of steam and copious quantities of hot honey and lemon drinks. However, his performance was sub-par – by his own standards.

The voice was back, but Bill Reid was gone. 

 

* * *

 

 

Not even Freddie could pretend everything was fine when Bill turned up unexpectedly at his flat in New York, after they had ended things, and began smashing at his front door screaming _“You’ll never get rid of me!”_

The encounter spooked Freddie to the point that, shortly afterwards, he left the flat and never returned. In truth, he rarely even returned to New York at all after that incident – despite having bought a different flat to replace the one he’d abandoned.

Phoebe would call it the _“straw that broke the camel’s back”_ but, to Roger at least it was the straw that broke the camel’s pattern.

 

* * *

 

When Freddie first started bringing Jim Hutton around, everyone was a bit apprehensive. Physically he was exactly Freddie’s type, and historically Freddie’s “type” had had more in common than physical characteristics.

Once Roger actually met Jim, his worries slipped away. Where others before had been hard and sharp, Jim was soft and kind.

While they too would argue on occasion, more often than not Jim would walk away. He’d walk away, giving them both time to cool down, and Freddie time to come back after him.

And Freddie always went back.

Jim bought Freddie gift, and that meant he loved him.

Jim made Freddie tables and shelves and that meant he loved him.

Roger had now realised the sheer importance that it held for Freddie to know that he was loved. He made an effort to say it – just casually and in passing. When Freddie would do something simple, like hold a door open for him; _“Oh, I love you Freddie”._ If Freddie offered to lend him a shirt or a watch; _“Thank you! Love you!”_

It was ridiculous and over the top and it never failed to make Freddie smile. He’d roll his eyes - _“thank you darling”, “no problem, Roggie”-_ and that’d be it. Roger knew that it was in his love life that Freddie apparently needed proof of love so desperately, but he figured it couldn’t hurt for him to throw it into the mix in his ordinary life too.

Freddie finally seemed to get it. He’d mention in interviews how happy he was with his relationship and he seemed it too.

Roger wasn’t sure if Freddie would have put up with another _Bill Reid_ type – but now they didn’t have to find out. Because Jim was as opposite to Bill as could be, and Freddie was happier than he’d been in a long time.

**Author's Note:**

> Details about Bill Reid are to be found in Peter Freestone's book.


End file.
